The joy of summer holidays

Going to the village Kanive in Coorg was a tradition during my school years. Owing to the fact that my grandmother lived there (no, we’re not Coorgis though), all my Bangalore and Mysore cousins, we would all travel every summer and winter vacation to join her and another set of cousins who lived there. Those were some of my best holidays. Just eat, play and talk (make noise was more like it!) and explore the surrounding places. There is this unbridled joy at being at a grandparent’s house, especially in a village. It’s something that’s associated with chidhood, something’s that’s pure and innocent. Something that will always invoke fond memories: Of bruised knees, of stories and legends, of head massages, of hot oil baths, of eating freshly picked fruits, of playing hide n seek, of climbing trees, of diving in the river, of running behind the odd vehicle on the road, of sowing seeds in the paddy field, of making all the mischief and getting away with it, of being wild and carefree…those were the days…<sigh>

Well, after my grandmother and family moved to Mysore, I hadn’t visited Kanive. It was almost 6 years since I’d been there. So this time, since we were doing a Coorg vacation (read about that here), we also decided to visit Kanive.

It was marvellous. Seeing the age old aqueduct that runs across the Cauvery river, playing in the water, speaking to some old neighbours who thankfully are still around, seeing all the paddy and vegetable fields around, visiting my grandmother’s house…it was all very nostalgic. So many memories came flooding back…so many events, so many stories…Thank god the village still retained quite a bit of its former beauty, inspite of some new constructions and more vehicles plying on the road.

There is also something about travelling with your family which is quite different from travelling with your friends. Especially if you’re going to your native place. The joy of discussing how it was then and how it is now! Taking in each and every small difference. “Oh this sign board wasn’t there before; they’ve built a new fence here; this guy went abroad; hey, this girl’s married now; some family moved out; there’s no electricity problem here anymore!; remember that sweet seller, he passed away ; they’ve cut down all these trees; they have new tractors now;” and so on and on…

Village hospitality is uncomparable. There is no way a city can match up to it. Since my grandmother’s house was pretty much in ruins now, we got invited to stay the night at a family friend’s (former neighbour) house (you know how it is in a small village, everyone knows everyone else). We were so touched by their display of obvious affection. They looked after us so well, fed us such delicious meals (most of the ingredients being from their own backyard or their fields!) and shared with us all the news of the village. We also (of course due to the insistence of my mother), had a small puja in the village temple. Surprisingly, I did feel nice, maybe ‘coz the temple was ancient; also, not many people, it overlooks the river and all the adjoining hills, it’s one of those places where it is possible to find peace!  It was the perfect homecoming.

I think most of us forget how much happiness lies in the small things we enjoy. Like taking a family vacation. Like eating in a tiny joint, whilst conversing with the cook. Like spending some quality time together with family. Like being awed every single time with the immense beauty around. Like just reminiscing about the good ol’ days. Like already thinking of the next vacation!

I’m not sure, but I think it was Mother Teresa who said, “A family that prays together stays together”, but what works for me, is “A family that travels together stays together”.  What say?